


Take Me Back

by rudbeckia



Series: Henrupe ficlets [2]
Category: Silence (2016), The Revenant (2016)
Genre: Adam Driver/Domhnall Gleason Character Combinations, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bad Dreams, M/M, kylux adjacent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:40:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23480092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rudbeckia/pseuds/rudbeckia
Summary: Andrew Henry wakes up.But where he, and where is Francisco?The shock is enough to make Henry utter the first genuine, heartfelt prayer of his long life.For kylux adjacents month day 2
Relationships: Francisco Garupe/Andrew Henry
Series: Henrupe ficlets [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1689181
Comments: 7
Kudos: 15
Collections: Into the Adjacentverse: Kylux Adjacents Month 2020





	Take Me Back

Henry started awake as people coughed and shuffled back to life and back onto the hard, polished pews all around him. A hand squeezed his fingers and a grandchild smiled knowingly, then winked a promise of conspiratorial silence. 

_I won’t tell you fell asleep since you never told when you saw there’s a novel hidden inside the covers of my hymnal._

Henry often wished he could copy his grandchild’s example and hide something more diverting within the dull pages of his family bible. He stifled a snort of laughter at the thought of his neighbours seeing his sudden turn to piety and wondering at his conversion to a religion he barely paid lip service to.

Back in the moment, he bent his head and responded when expected with words that tripped from his lips. When he looked up at the simple wooden cross behind the wooden altar with its pristine white cloth and—

No. This was all wrong somehow.

He leaned sideways. “How long was I asleep?” he muttered as the pastor held forth on the intricate meaning of a passage he hadn’t listened to.  
“Just for a minute, pappy, I promise.”

Henry tightened his lips and blinked, throat clenching painfully with the effort of not crying out in grief over what he could not possibly have lost because he could not possibly have had it in the first place.

Where was his Francis? His cabin? The little piece of land they’d cleared and tilled last autumn in the hope of planting in spring? In the minute he’d been asleep, Henry felt as weary as if he’d lived for a year, working the land and setting snares for meat, carrying a shotgun to frighten away any predators that might encroach on their piece of wilderness.

“Are you all right, Pappy?”  
“Yes, just had a dream is all.”

The hand squeezed his fingers again and Andrew bowed his head in prayer.  
_”Jesus, God, I don’t know that I still believe in you. I don’t know that I ever did. But take me back there. Please, take me back to Francisco.”_

=====

Brother Garupe started awake with water seeping up his tunic and dripping on his head, chilled to the marrow. There was a flat stone in front of him and on the other side of it a strange formation of bamboo where the stems had woven together. From a certain angle it almost looked like a cross and a doorway. He shivered, slapped and rubbed at his arms.

“Lord,” he said. “Father,” he added. “I have no right to ask yet I will ask because of your promise to ask and it will be given.”

Was it too much? Was he wrong to be reminding God of His own words? His own promise to His people? Tears welled up and spilled.

“I asked, and you gave me Andrew. I do not presume to know how, or why, or to try to understand why you took me away from him again. All I ask, all I beg, is that you take me back to him.”

=====

After the early Sunday service, Henry’s usual routine involved his study, family lunch, his library, family dinner, and his bed. Today was no different, but after shutting himself in his study on the pretext of checking over paperwork for business on Monday, he locked the door, sat in his chair and closed his eyes, bringing back fragmented memories of the incredibly detailed dream he’d had in church. 

Francisco Garupe, he now knew, was the name of the man he dreamed about whenever he slept. He’d been so real, so alive, so distinctive in habit and personality that Henry refused to believe his ordered mind would conjure up such a man out of stray thoughts and ideas. He focused on Francisco’s warm voice, his full laugh, his hardened muscles after months of plentiful food and hard work to improve their cabin. 

Francisco Garupe, who liked to be held and kissed, and who liked to watch and giggle as Andrew bathed in the freezing water of the stream behind the cabin. Francisco Garupe, who only just learned to swim because Andrew taught him. Francisco Garupe, who taught Andrew how to fall in love twice: once with the idea of Francisco and then again with Francisco himself.

He allowed himself one maudlin moment of tears, then dried his face on his sleeve, shuffled his papers out of the way, cushioned his weary head on his folded arms on the leather surface of his desk and went to sleep.

=====

“Andrew!”

Andrew shot upright in bed at the yell.  
“Francis? Are you all right? you need me?”

“Andrew.” 

Francisco’s right hand pressed his own chest as if holding his heart in place. His left hand reached for Andrew, cupped his face and pulled him into a kiss.  
Andrew laughed. “What’s wrong. Bad dream?”  
“The worst. I was back _there_ under the bamboo. I thought you had been taken from me. Or that I had been taken from you.”  
“Bad dream,” Andrew said, a hand smoothing over Francisco’s hair. Andrew frowned, a memory tugging at his mind. “I think I had one too. I feel... I can’t remember it but I feel... Old. Tired.”  
“Here.” Francisco pulled Andrew into a tight hug and rocked him back and forwards. “It was a dream. A dream. Only a dream.”

“All right,” Andrew said, laughing as Francisco’s kisses grew more insistent. “Before we go any further. I was old and tired and grey in my dream. Just tell me, what colour is my hair?”  
Francisco laughed and combed his fingers through the fine strands of Andrew’s hair.  
“As always, my love, the finest, brightest fire-red like it might burn me if I touch.”  
“Well then, Francis,” Henry said with a smile. “Let’s take our minds off these bad dreams before we get up to face another day.”


End file.
